Secret Window II: Reopening the Window
by DeppsterGal
Summary: Author Mort Rainy finds bone chilling inspiration for his new novel. HEY GUYS, PLEASE R&R! BTW, i am aware that this story lacks description i just haven't gotten around to editing it yet. HOWEVER, i feel that it has a good plot!
1. The Body

Corn was out of season. It had been about nine months since Mort Rainy's newly revised novel, _Secret Window,_ had hit bookstore shelves. It was an instant success, but now the hype was dying down and Mort was in the same position that he was those nine months ago. He felt that a sequel was in order, but where to start? Mort was dressed in his favorite striped robe with the rip in the shoulder. His hair, as usual, a mess and in need of a dye job. The cursor on Mort's laptop was blinking on and off in time to the ticking of his new watch.

__

Why do I write this crap? He thought to himself.

With each blink of the cursor, Mort became more and more frustrated with himself; he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a pack of filtered cigarettes. In his swivel chair Mort turned to the little window in the corner, and gazed through it as he lit the cigarette.

Taking long drags Mort, looked down on his barren garden that used to be

filled with succulent corn, half expecting his old friend John Shooter to appear. But the only thing in the garden was a lone shovel propped against a gnarled tree. Mort stared hard at the scene, searching for inspiration in a place that once supported his best seller. Only he knew that more than inspiration was buried under that soil, but there was something more, something, that if it were discovered would shock anyone.

__

If only Amy had been more careful now she can be with her lover for--

In mid thought something floating in the lake behind his house caught Mort's eye. He ran down the stairs of his excluded cabin and out to the lake.

Still unable to see exactly what it was in the water, Mort waded out to the body. He was in up to his thighs in the murky water before he could reach the object. Now only and arm's length away Mort realized that it was a body floating face down. Slowly Mort reached under the corpse and flipped it over. As he looked at its face, what he saw made him pass out in the water. The body that he found was that of himself, Mort Rainy.


	2. Writing on the Wall

Mort woke to the sun beating down on him. He had no idea how long he had been there, floating in the lake. The body was gone and he couldn't think of a reasonable explanation as to what he saw. Soaked to the bone Mort made his way back to the cabin. His skin felt as if it was crawling with sand, and his hair was caked with mud. He needed a shower, but his shower door was still broken, but he didn't care. Mort let the hot water run, he quickly let the water roll down his body, the muck from the lake rolled away with the water. As he stepped out of the shower the phone rang, still soaking wet Mort made his way to the phone:

"Yep?" he questioned the caller.

There was a bit of a pause on the other end before a voice replied.

"I know you did this to me," the voice answered. The voice was harsh and groggy, like it hadn't been used for a while.

Then the person hung up the phone.

Creep, Mort thought to himself.

On his way over to his room, Mort glanced at his laptop, still blank.

__

A nap might help me to how do you say compose.

Mort wrapped himself in his favorite old striped bath rope and curled up on his worn couch.

Three hours later Mort woke with a start, to a scraping sound like metal scratching wood. He glanced out the window there was nothing out there, 

__

This seclusion is getting to me again, Mort said out loud.

__

OK, I really need to get working

Mort now found himself staring at the all too familiar empty screen.

__

How did I do this before? He thought to himself, cracking his jaw.

Fed up with himself, Mort finally started to type whatever came to his head:

__

Todd Downey had finished off his garden of corn with much pleasure. It was the best corn he had ever tasted; each ear was better than the last. The folks around town thought so too. They always asked him what his secret way. Each time he replied the same way.

"Family Secret," he'd say with a devilish smirk.

Corn was out of season, and he had to admit to himself, he had so much fun planting and harvesting that crop that he felt that circumstances called for another batch. But it could never be the same, that fertilizer was the key and he could never get that back or could he?

"So I haven't completely lost my touch. But that's enough crap for one day," Mort said, pleased with himself. And with that he hit the save button and shut his laptop.

Mort swung around in his chair and right behind him, scratched into the wall were these words:

I know who you are, you can't hide it forever, Mort.


	3. The Stranger

Mort was sure that he had all of the "Shooter"s removed from the wall, and that message certainly wasn't there before. This freakish act really got to Mort, how could there possibly be someone still living that knew what he did? And with that he fled to his new car. (It was just too risky to ride around in the old one, too many bad memories) He needed to see another human face, to speak to someone other than himself.

Ten minutes later Mort arrived at the little diner downtown. The little bell on top of the door jingled as he entered.

" 'ey Mort. How's the book comin'?" inquired PJ, owner of the diner.

"Dunno, I'm only on page one. Now, ya got any Mountain Dew of not?"

"Yep, got a fresh case day after last. Pull up a chair and I'll get ya a can."

" Yeah, thanks man," said Mort, and he meant it.

There was only one other person in the diner, a middle aged man sitting at the end of the counter, his back to him so Mort couldn't see his face. Mort sat on a stool half way down the counter, completely ignoring the man, but the man wasn't ignoring Mort. Mort had to admit that the man was suspicious but he dismissed the idea when PJ returned with his MD.

When PJ slid the drink to him, a red substance smeared across the counter.

Written down the length of the counter was a message written in what appeared to be blood. It said:

__

Give me back my life before I take it from you.

How had it gotten there? Mort was sure that it wasn't there when he entered and PJ couldn't have done it because he was out back getting his drink. The only other person capable of doing this was the man in the corner. But how could he have done it right under his nose?

"Hey, PJ what is this?" Mort said pointing at the message.

"What are you talking about man? I don't see a thing."

"No, seriously. Can't you see this message?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should go home and take a nap."

"Yeah PJ, maybe you're right. Thanks for the Dew." Mort got up, gave PJ a $5 bill and left the diner.

When the door closed, the man in the corner put on a black knit hat, threw a bill on the table and left the diner without a word, in the same direction Mort had went. The stranger followed Mort all the way back to his cabin. He stopped behind a tree and waited for Mort to enter the house. He then walked around to the side of the house and took the shovel that was in the garden and then left the yard. The man then got into a car parked across the small lake. When inside of it he had a perfect view of the cabin, he put the shovel in the back seat and began to wait.


	4. The Ideal Moment

Mort slept well into the day, it was well past 5 o'clock before he finally awoke. He was still groggy, but he felt refreshed and ready to conquer the novel. It had been the first peaceful sleep he had had in a long time, Mort felt as if all the weird things that had been happening to him were gone and simply a figment of his imagination.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, and turned the faucet on cold. He bent 

over and rubbed the water over his face. He looked like a mess, his goatee was unkempt and his hair badly needed a dye job. Mort turned off the water and as he straightened up, in the shards of the still broken mirror, he saw a piece of white paper flutter to the ground. Mort turned sharply and rushed over to the paper. On it were 5 simple words:

__

This is your final warning.

This final message really got to him; someone was getting too close. Mort hurried and dressed himself in a ripped t- shirt and worn jeans. He made his way to the car and took off down the road. The stranger knew where he was going. When Mort was out of sight the man started the engine in his car and started after him.

Mort turned into the driveway of a white Victorian style house. He scanned the 

yard around him, heart beating in his throat.

__

Where is he? He's close, how close?

Mort ran to the house and entered through the front door. 

"PJ, he coming, he knows what I did." Mort sputtered.

"Woa, man slow down. How close is he?" PJ shot back, beginning to feel the pressure.

"I'm not sure be he's close, I sense it."

" Alright, come on upstairs and we'll work something out."

The two men hurried up the stairs of the house and entered into a small office. The stranger had just pulled onto the street where the Victorian was located. He then pulled over and took a white plastic garbage bag and the shovel from the back seat and started down the road toward the house. When the man arrived at the house he climbed up a flight of stairs on the side of the Victorian that led to a deck. From there he mounted the roof and walked around the house until he was at the window where the two men were talking. 

The sun was already set and it began to rain, the man didn't move, he leaned

against the shovel and watched the two men talk. Mort was moving his hands in animated motions; the expression on his face was urgent. PJ listened intently, nodding occasionally. The stranger waited patiently for the right moment. He felt that time was drawing near, he pulled a narrow brimmed hat from the trash bag, putting it on so that the brim covered his left eye. The man lit a cigarette produced from his pocket. He picked up the shovel, it felt familiar in his hands, he took several long drags of the cigarette before tossing it on the roof where it immediately burned out in the heavy rain. It was time. 


	5. Mort Rainey

The man swung the shovel into the window; the glass flew across the room and scattered. The two men, in synchronization, turned to the man. The stranger lunged at PJ, clearly the stronger of the two, and with the blade of the shovel he sliced into his neck. The man could feel bones snap in his victim's neck, PJ fell to the floor the open wound gushed crimson blood. He had died instantly, but to make sure the job was done right, he thrust the blade into the man's chest, right where his heart was, this wound was so deep that PJ's ribs poked through the skin, tissue and muscle protruded through. 

Mort stood in place, petrified, he gave a little gasp, the man turned to him.

The man put the pole of the shovel on Mort's neck and pushed him against the wall, cutting off his air supply.

"I- who- I thought you were-" sputtered Mort.

" Dead?" the man finished Mort's sentence. "Thought you killed me huh? Guess not, cause here I am in the living flesh. But the real reason I'm here is this

You stole my life, and I'm here to get it back. I know who you really are, William Murdere, you freakin' parasite. That's what matters. And you of all people should know that I don't react to intimidation." The man said rather calmly. 

"How- did?" Mort replied, at a loss of breath.

"I think that I should know everything about my own life. The fact is that **I **am Mort Rainey. You simply tried to kill me off, which I might remind you didn't work; I just had a headache for a few days, in order to abduct my life. I could have taken you life that day in the lake, but I decided to wait for the ideal moment." Mort paused for a moment to crack his jaw before continuing, " Now, I don't know why and I don't know how you did this, it will remain a mystery to me, but your death- your death shall not." sneered Mort Rainey.

Mort removed the shovel from William's throat; he then adjusted his hat, running his fingers across the brim with an evil, pleased smile on his face, before taking the life that was his. And all that Mort left behind in that old Victorian house, was one word scratched into the wall in that office:

SHOOTER


	6. Reopening the Window

Mort Rainey walked up the stairs in his cabin, up to the every familiar loft where he wrote his novel _Secret Window. _He was taking everything in, glad to be back where he belonged. He took off his narrow brimmed black hat and hung it on a chair. Beads of sweat had formed on this forehead from the heat outside. Mort walked over to the edge of the room where a chest of drawers rested. He shoved the chest aside to reveal a small window near the floor. Some windows aren't supposed to be opened, this was one of them, Mort knew this, but what did he have to fear? He opened the secret window for a second time.

Fresh air poured into the room, it smelled like fresh soil. From the window, Mort looked over his handiwork, a freshly planted garden of corn. He could almost taste the sweet, buttery ears. In only a few months he'll have all that he could possibly want. But in the mean time Mort walked over to his laptop, still blank. He sat down and with his hands still dusted with fresh soil, he began to type.

__

It was corn season again; Todd Downey longed for the succulent ears of corn that he had so willfully devoured the year before. But the secret, his secret to the perfect corn would no longer work. The key ingredient was too old, he needed some fresh meat and he knew just where to find it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This story isn't over, I am going to continue it! I have to give credit where credit is due- the inspiration for the **next** part of the story is from _isabelledepp._ Thanx! Stay tuned! 

~DepppsterGal 


End file.
